Death Squadron Command Meeting 279
by LPK9
Summary: A boring command meeting aboard the Executor is interrupted. 2 years post ESB. The Death Star 2's construction is delayed a year in this story. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_Meeting Room #1_

_Executor_

_In Orbit around Kuat_

Admiral Piett looked down at his command notes for a quick half second to center himself. They were two thirds through today's command meeting and Darth Vader hadn't murdered anyone so far. It was already quite a successful conference.

"Lieutenant Rebla, you have two minutes to describe the shielding issue in forward starboard section #24," he ordered. It was always wise to give these nervous officers a time limit. Rebla was a new transfer from Star Destroyer _Avenger_, and new recruits were the most likely to annoy the Sith and find themselves on the floor gasping for breath with a hand around the throat.

The dark haired male nodded, quivering, and stepped in front of the holoprojecter with a surreptitious glance at Vader. Piett grimaces slightly. Nervous looks seemed to piss off his commander, though how could anyone not be nervous around a hulking cyborg with bad lungs? The Admiral regretted that he hadn't had time to coach Rebla before this command meeting; the transfer had happened rather suddenly after Vader had strangled Lieutenant Koft, and Piett had been busy dealing with a sewage problem in the far rear aft of the Lady.

The door slid open and Piett actually jumped slightly. No one was supposed to interrupt a command meeting unless a.) the ship was under attack b.) the Emperor was injured or dead or c.) there was news of Skywalker.

What did it say that either a. or b. was preferable to c.? Skywalker was a total, complete, unending headache.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Piett demanded quickly.

"Um, my Lord, Admiral, there is a transmission from an individual matching the description of the Rebel Skywalker," the man squeaked nervously.

Piett cursed inwardly. So, c. then.

"What does he want?" Vader demanded.

"My Lord, he ... er ... requests a private conversation with, um, you, my Lord," the man sputtered back.

Three seconds went by.

"This command meeting is over," the Sith snapped abruptly. "Clear the room. You are tracing the transmission, of course."

"Yes, my Lord," the man replied thankfully, turning and scurrying out of the room.

Piett quickly shut down the background visuals (no need to let the pesky Skywalker observe any Imperial data of any kind) and took a step toward the door, only to be stopped by one gauntleted hand.

"Not you, Admiral. I wish you to stay."

Mountains of Axxila. The last thing he wanted was to look that slippery Rebel in the face. But ...

"As you wish, my Lord."

Thirsty seconds later, the room was clear save for an anxious Imperial admiral and a heavy breathing cyborg. The large screen flickered for a moment, then cleared to reveal the face and black clad figure of the Empire's Most Wanted.

Not for the first time, Admiral Piett was filled with reluctant awe. Skywalker was so young, so innocent, though he had acquired a few scars over the years. There was Hoth, where he had apparently been attacked by a large beast called a wampa, and Bespin, where he had been attacked by a black beast called Darth Vader. And a host of missions before and after those epochal events. It was a miracle the young man was alive, much less walking around wreaking havoc.

"Skywalker," Vader intoned dramatically.

The boy blinked and looked first at the hulking cyborg, then at Piett.

"So, um, it looks like maybe you are in the middle of a conference with your admiral? I ... ah ... I could maybe holocall back later?"

The great Sith shifted slightly even as the deep voice responded quickly, "No. The meeting can be rescheduled."

A moment later Piett found, to his horror, that the clear blue eyes were now fixed on him.

"My apologies Admiral ... Piett, isn't it? I didn't mean to disturb you."

This bizarre courtesy from the Empire's Most Wanted Man briefly robbed Piett of speech, but a dangerous twitch by his Lord quickly untangled his tongue.

"Not at all," he said with a mixture of deference and authority.

"Well, then," Skywalker said, then glanced to the right for a long moment.

"So," he continued, looking back at Vader. "So something crazy happened. A few months ago I was on a mission ... somewhere … and I got, um, injured."

"Corellia or Carida," Vader intoned coldly.

The youth scowled hideously in response.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," Skywalker complained petulantly. "It's like having a galactic stalker."

"You destroyed the Death Star," the Sith pointed out grimly. "You should expect to experience significant notoriety and indeed pursuit from Imperial Forces."

"Which is totally why you are hunting for me," the boy replied resentfully, then sighed. "Anyway, I needed some special, er, biological products …"

"Corellia," Vader interrupted angrily, his right hand fisting so hard that Piett heard the leather creak. "I knew that you had been exposed to high levels of radiation during that explosion in the munitions factory. You should never have been sent to such a dangerous locale! How badly was your health compromised?"

The Rebel pilot shrugged slightly, "It was kind of bad but I'm totally fine now."

"That seems unlikely," Vader argued. "Radiation at that level will cause long term damage to white blood cell production. You should be recovering in a med bay, not running additional missions, but I would expect nothing else from those fools in command of your petty Rebel Alliance. But if you think I will permit …"

"Could you please just stop!" Skywalker snapped. "I. Am. Fine. Yes, there was radiation damage and yes my bone marrow was affected to the point that I needed a bone marrow transplant, but they did a check for someone with matching marrow and, well, it turns out I have a twin sister."

57 seconds ground past in silence.

"What?" Darth Vader finally asked, his deep voice a mixture of incredulity and, Piett could tell, anger.

"Twin. Sister," Skywalker stated firmly. "I have a twin. You didn't know about that, I assume?"

Vader actually shuffled back a few centimeters.

"Impossible," he muttered. "It …"

"Look, I don't have a lot of time since I know you are trying to track us," Skywalker continued. "I have a twin sister. We did full genetic cross typing three times because we were so surprised. There is absolutely no doubt. She donated some bone marrow because we are great matches. I recovered really quickly with a little help from the Force. So I'm good."

Vader stood still, his great mask pointed at the young pilot, then said haltingly, "I am ... glad."

"I don't know why you'd be glad," Skywalker snapped irritably. "You nearly killed me on Bespin and …"

Again, the youth turned to the right, apparently listening to someone out of range of the audio, then nodded resignedly.

"OK, yes, you're right. I'm sorry. I keep forgetting the time crunch."

He turned back to Vader, "I do need to keep this short. So my sister is married and she's, um, pregnant …"

Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, actually wobbled in place and Piett lifted a hand towards the cyborg before jerking it back. What was he doing? Even if Vader fell over, anyone in his path would be squashed like a bilge-bug. It wasn't like Piett could lift him.

"So we were on another mission recently and we got exposed, just exposed, mind you, to a nasty virus. Our local med droid wants us to get a specific vaccination to combat the chance that we could get sick but the vaccine is contraindicated during pregnancy in the case of certain genetic issues in our mother's line and well, we don't know who our mother is. So we were hoping you would tell us."

Another 12 seconds groaned by.

"Bring her here," Vader snapped suddenly, causing the usually unflappable Piett to jerk in surprise. "We have the very best medical facilities in the entire galaxy. I will personally insure that your sister and her child receive the very best of care."

Skywalker gazed back, his blue orbs wide in disbelief, and shook his head, "I don't know whether to laugh or cry at that. There is no way in all the star clusters that my sister is getting anywhere near you. You cut off my hand!"

"It was a regrettable incident," Vader rumbled, his deep voice urgent. "I pledge that I will not harm your sister …"

Skywalker turned to the right and frowned even as the youth rolled his eyes, "Yes, I know. Look, do you want to talk to him? Because if so, come on over here. If not, let me handle this, Ok?"

He turned back and lifted one eyebrow, "That is, of course, a hard no. Our mother's name. What. Was. It? Assuming you know."

Piett shifted slightly to one side as Vader straightened slightly. He was extremely adept at interpreting his Lord's body language, which is partly why he was still breathing. For some reason, this question enraged Vader.

"Do you dare to suggest?" the Sith began, his voice wrathful.

Skywalker interrupted irritably, "We have three minutes left before we have to go into hyperspace. Are you going to tell us or not?"

The wait was shorter this time, which Piett found merciful. This whole situation was clearly fraught with emotion and an emotional Darth Vader was to be avoided at all costs.

"Padme Amidala Naberrie Skywalker, of Naboo."

The young man looked startled, "That's, uh, a lot of names."

"Amidala was her political name," Vader rumbled. "Naberrie was her family name. Skywalker was her secret name, since her marriage to a Jedi was forbidden."

"Why was it forbidden?" Skywalker asked in puzzled tone.

Piett managed to choke down a snort. He was old enough to remember certain aspects of the traitorous Order; marriage was completely forbidden for unclear reasons.

"What?" Skywalker asked suddenly, turning again to the right. "Uh, Ok, here, give it to me."

A moment later, a holopad flew into the young man's hands and the Rebel glanced at the screen before turning it around. The image was of a young woman of quite startling beauty, with long dark tresses, and deep brown eyes.

"Is this our mother?"

The furniture trembled around the Sith even as the great mask nodded, "Yes."

"Thank you," Skywalker replied.

"What?" he continued, turning toward his secret sister. "Is that a happy hop? You have heard of her?"

There was a long pause.

"Really? Well, that's pretty cool, then."

Skywalker turned back now, "Thank you! She's really happy. Says our mother was a wonderful person. So did she have any, er, thyroid problems? Any history of Kragul disease? Did her hair ever fall out unexpectedly? Did she…"

"She was completely healthy," Vader riposted swiftly. "Her hair cascaded down her back like the waterfalls of Akar Kesh. She was absolutely perfect."

Hair cascaded? Darth Vader was a poet?

"Ok, great!" Skywalker replied. "We do appreciate it. We will, uh ... well, I hope we don't see you again but we probably will."

"Indeed," Vader replied, shaking off his brief foray into figurative speech. "It is your destiny."

"Whatever," Skywalker replied with a casual wave of his prosthetic hand. "Skywalker out."

The screen went blank.

Admiral Firmus Piett discovered, to his horror, that it was literally possible to shake in one's boots. There was only a few possibilities to explain this bizarre conversation. The most likely was, was … that his boots were a size too big.

"You will speak of this to no one, Admiral," Darth Vader ordered menacingly, and turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

"Yes, my Lord."

_/—-_

_Author Note: Seriously, this one will be short. Like 3 chapters. Maybe 4. Thank you, dear husband, for editing for me!_


	2. Chapter 2

_The Bridge_

_Executor_

_In hyperspace_

_En route to the Death Star around Endor_

_3 weeks later_

"We will come out of hyperspace in sixty minutes, Admiral," a fresh faced lieutenant reported.

"Very good, Lieutenant."

Piett stared gloomily out of the front windows of the _Executor._ The whorls of hyperspace were truly magical and he felt settled here. At peace. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his calm, comfortable bridge, track down Darth Vader, and report that they were almost to Endor.

However, his lord was not responding to coms with any regularity, and indeed had been distant and reclusive for the last 3 weeks, ever since the insane holocall with Skywalker.

In some ways, that was a fine thing. Piett had managed to run his ship with comparative calm without his two meter superior breathing down his neck, and no one had died. Well, there was that idiot who had broken into the garbage compactor on a bet and been eaten by a dianoga, but _Darth Vader_ hadn't killed anyone.

"You have the bridge, Captain," the admiral said to his second in command, and marched morosely off to the elevator. For his own well being, he tracked the Sith's whereabouts at all times. Right now, as he had been all too often these last 3 weeks, Vader was in his personal hanger mucking around with his TIE Advanced.

The elevator moved slowly and halted periodically for security checks. Piett's brain returned to the basic mantra of the last few weeks. He was sick of thinking about it, but he couldn't help himself.

Luke Skywalker, desert boy from the forsaken planet of Tatooine, out in the Outer Rim, was Darth Vader's son. There was no other logical explanation.

The boy was a phenomenal pilot. So was Vader.

The boy was a Force sensitive. So was Vader.

The boy had commed Vader to ask who his mother was, and had expected Vader to know.

Vader had known and had described Padme Naberrie Amidala Skywalker as gorgeous and perfect.

Which was not a "Vader like" thing to say. At all.

Clearly the woman had been his ... his ... wife.

Which meant that Darth Vader had once been Anakin Skywalker, the Hero With No Fear.

And had, er ...

How did that even happen? Piett knew all about the starbirds and the green fleas.

But Vader hadn't been born in the suit. He had once been the healthy and comparatively normal (from a biological standpoint) Anakin Skywalker, who had married and managed to produce progeny.

Two progeny. Twins.

And the unknown twin sister was expecting a child which meant that Darth Vader would be, maybe already was, a grandfather.

Worse yet, Palpatine probably didn't know anything about the female twin. From purely a loyalty to the Empire perspective, Piett should probably tell his Highness about this whole thing except that ...

The fact was, Admiral Firmus Piett despised the Emperor. He admired the Empire. He had lived through the Clone Wars and the associated chaos. He had seen, close up, the tragedies associated with the ineffectual behemoth that was the Old Republic. But Palpatine, for all that he had founded the Empire, was not actually a good ruler. The Emperor was a politician, among other things. He was quite willing to sacrifice his own troops for nefarious purposes and that really enraged Piett. These men (and women) had left home and family to serve their leader, only to be thrown away without concern. No, Piett didn't like the Emperor at all, not that he was stupid enough to say that out loud. But if Vader and his kids were able to take the old man down in the near future, well, Piett wouldn't shed so much as a tear.

Not to mention that if Piett even considered turning against Vader, the Sith would probably figure that out and strangle him to death. So there was that.

So the Admiral wouldn't tell the Emperor anything. But if Palpatine learned that he had concealed something of this level of importance, he would be dead either very quickly or, worse yet, very slowly.

It was a basically lose-lose situation, and Piett disliked lose-lose situations where his personal breathing was concerned.

He sighed, deeply and sadly. Being Admiral under Darth Vader was a position with dubious life expectancy and now that there were rebellious Vader kids involved, it seemed less and less likely he would live to his next Life Day.

Which was a pity. Piett pretty much liked his job, and he knew he was good at it. He and Vader even had a decent working relationship. Most of the time. Vader was very competent. Brave. Hard working. Devoted. Led from the front.

Utterly Naboo bananas where Skywalker was concerned. And now Bespin made so much more sense. Except that Piett didn't know why he hadn't been strangled when the blasted _Millennium Falcon_ had slipped into hyperspace.

The elevator door slid open and Firmus Piett marched competently to the door of the private bay, which opened silently before him. Darth Vader was arc welding something on his TIE Advanced, which was an odd image. Vader usually just stalked around menacingly, but clearly the man was, in addition to so much else, an amazing mechanic.

"Admiral."

"My Lord, the _Executor _will exit hyperspace in 53 minutes and arrive at Endor."

There was a long pause as the welding continued apace for another 43 seconds.

Because where Darth Vader was concerned, seconds counted. Piett always counted seconds.

"Very well. You will accompany me to the Death Star to meet with the Emperor."

"My Lord?" Piett asked in a puzzled, and very worried, way.

"You will not tell the Emperor about the holocall from Skywalker."

"No, my Lord."

The great mask stared straight into his face for a long moment, probing him, before nodding in a satisfied way.

"You will take my personal shuttle to the Death Star. I will fly my TIE Advanced."

"As you wish, my Lord."

This was weird but the Dark Lord was a great pilot and no doubt was quite stressed about his Rebel kids who were tearing around the galaxy blowing things up and having random babies. Really good pilots found it soothing to fly, or so Piett had heard.

He had no personal use for these piddly little fighters.

(An X-wing had taken down the Death Star but Darth Vader's son had been at the controls, so, yeah …)

"You are dismissed, Admiral."

"Yes, my Lord."

/

_Shuttle in space_

_Approaching the Death Star_

_Around Endor_

_55 minutes later_

Admiral Piett had to admit that the Death Star, even unfinished, was quite impressive. He had never seen the original Death Star with his own eyes. This one, he knew, was twice as big as the original.

Endor was not impressive, but it was beautiful. It was a verdant green with interspersed rivers and lakes of blue. The reports said that it was filled with bugs and small animals, nothing dangerous. Oh, and some diminutive, sentient bears named Ewoks.

Also not dangerous.

Piett leaned back and looked out the window. Vader's TIE Advanced was doing loop de loops around the shuttle, so it kept slipping in and out of Piett's vision. It was making the Admiral vaguely sick just thinking about the constant change in gravitational and centripetal forces, but presumably this kind of thing made Darth Vader happy, or whatever constituted happiness in a fearsome Sith Lord with major family problems.

They were close to the Death Star now, nearly at the landing bay, and up close it was even more amazing. Huge. The _Executor_ was a gigantic ship but this station was colossal!

Wait, where was Vader's TIE Advanced?

/—

_Emperor's Throne Room_

_Death Star_

"Rise, Jerjerrod."

Moff Jerjerrod, administrator of the Death Star 2, rose to his feet, "Your Highness, the secondary laser systems have been augmented and are now at full strength."

The Emperor rose to his feet and shuffled forward to look into the other man's now pale face, "Very good, Jerjerrod. It is well for you that you have succeeded at last. Otherwise …"

"Yes, your Highness," the Moff quavered.

"Leave me," Palpatine grunted with an irritable wave of his hand.

The old man sighed as he retreated to his throne and sat down on its cushioned krayt leather seat. The Death Star 2 project had been fraught with repeated delays and Palpatine was totally exasperated. There had been transparisteel shortages, and Rebel attacks on shipments of vital laser components, and manpower issues.

At least Vader had just arrived in system after weeks of protecting the Kuat Shipyards against Rebel attack; the man was something of a blunt instrument, but he got things done.

He reached out casually with the Force. Vader was very close. Very, very …

Wait!

Palpatine spun his throne around toward the window, just as an augmented TIE Advanced crashed through the window and into the old man, whose body was smashed into the front end of the TIE and bounced along the now twisted and crumpled floor.

Everything went black ... permanently.

/

_Landing Bay #3_

_Death Star_

Admiral Piett descended the ramp of Vader's shuttle to find a scene of total chaos. Troops were running around, alarms were blaring, and there was a general sense of rising hysteria.

"What is happening?" Piett snarled at a nearby captain whose eyes were nearly popping out of his head.

The captain in question was listening to coms and gibbering confusedly.

"What is happening!?" Piett bellowed again.

"I'm sorry, sir," the man replied, sweat beading on his brow even as the green eyes darted to focus on Piett's Admiral bars. "There has been a terrible accident. A ship has crashed into … into the Emperor's throne room, sir. We've lost all contact with …"

The voice faded away and Admiral Firmus Piett bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood.

That blasted cyborg had just tried to assassinate the Emperor.

/

_Corridor adjacent to the Throne Room_

_Death Star_

_1 hour later_

Piett watched carefully as two welders cut through the wall which separated them from the mangled remains of the Throne Room.

Moff Jerjerrod, commander of the station, had been just leaving the Emperor's presence when Vader's TIE had crashed, and was presumed dead.

Of course he was.

That left Admiral Piett, who had never even seen the Death Star, who knew very little about its basic military structure and logistical teams, to deal with this total mess. There were, of course, myriad underlings tearing around but the disappearance and presumed death of the Emperor and Vader …

(Yes, it was definitely Vader's ship, Piett had explained. Vader had been flying loop de loops around his shuttle. Maybe he had gotten dizzy or something? And crashed into the Throne Room? Incredibly enough, the various underlings had clutched this explanation to their psychological bosoms and calmed. Slightly.)

Piett, as ranking Admiral, had arranged to have the Throne Room sealed off externally, pumped full of air, and then ordered that mechanical equipment be hauled up the back stairs to slice carefully through side walls to see if Palpatine was still alive.

Piett hoped, with every fiber of his being, that the Emperor was not alive. He didn't have children but he did have a nephew and a niece. Darth Vader had obviously tried to murder his own master for the sake of his children and grandchild. The admiral could respect that. It would be a pity if the machine-man had died in vain.

The final cut was made and the section of wall fell with a crash into the dilapidated throne room. Piett didn't really have to be here but he was morbidly curious. Well, that, and the troops seemed to be rather incompetent. Best to have someone in charge. Like himself.

The Throne Room was filled with dust and twisted, tortured metal curled and sparked ominously throughout the extensive room. The troopers crept forward carefully, searching for signs of life. Piett gazed around, noting the collapsed forms of the Royal Guards who had died as they lived, guarding their Emperor.

Guarding him ineffectively. Crashing one's ship into the Death Star Throne Room holding the Emperor was, at least, creative.

"Admiral."

Piett looked up and then cautiously made his way over to one corner, where an ensign was standing over a mangled body. The young man looked pale in the glowing lights of the head and hand lamps, and he kept his eyes carefully averted.

Piett did not. He stared straight down at the battered upper body of the man who had created the Empire. The corpse was only half present but at least it was the upper half. He had met Palpatine before and yes, this was the man.

Emperor Palpatine was quite thoroughly dead.

"Sir!"

Piett straightened, groaning slightly as his aged back protested, "Yes?"

"Sir, it is Lord Vader! He's ... he's alive!"

Piett forgot his aching back and surged forward. Surely even Vader could not survive such a crash ...

The man/creature was lying pinned under the left wing of the TIE Advanced, his legs completely obscured by the wreckage.

"My Lord," Piett murmured, falling to his knees beside the man. Vader was wheezing desperately and his left arm had been torn off at the elbow, leaving a mass of sparking circuitry. His chest panel was an array of frantically blinking lights and ominous buzzing sounds emanated under the debris, indicating that servos were overheating. "My Lord, stay still and we will get medical help for you as soon as possible."

"Piett," Vader murmured, reaching out to grasp his admiral's hand. "Piett."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"My grandchild ... my grandchild will be free."

_Author Note: This really will be short. Really. Thank you for your reviews and follows and kindness in reading my work, ya'all. It is SO encouraging!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Meeting Room #3_

_The Liberty_

_In Orbit Around Sullust_

_8 hours later_

"I have to go to the refresher," Leia Organa Solo stated in an uncompromising tone.

"Maybe we should just move the meeting to the corridor next to the refresher," her twin brother suggested innocently. "It would be more convenient for you."

Leia grabbed a glass of water from the table with the Force and flung the contents into her brother's face. Or tried. The youth, laughing, lifted a hand and water bounced off an invisible shield, slightly splashing the Mon Calamari Admiral Akbar and Rebel Leader Mon Mothma in the face and clothing.

"Children, really," Mon said with a slight smile.

"Sorry, Lady Mothma," Luke said apologetically. "I'm afraid we're all a bit punchy from lack of sleep.

"I don't know why you aren't sleeping well, Kid," Han Solo drawled. "You aren't sharing a bed with a short pregnant lady."

"Yes, but I am the Force sensitive twin brother to said pregnant lady," Luke explained. "Every time she wakes up, which is about every 5 minutes apparently, I wake up a little as well."

"Just think, Luke," Leia commented, rising carefully to her feet and beginning to waddle toward the door, "in a very small way, you are experiencing the joys of two small beings kicking your bladder mercilessly. Vicariously, I mean."

"Mon Mothma!"

The foursome at the table, and Leia, jerked in surprise as a wild eyed ensign rushed into the room, drooling in astonishment.

"What is it, Ensign Melka?" Mon Mothma demanded, standing up worriedly.

"The Emperor and Vader! They are dead!"

/

_The _Executor

_In Orbit around Takodana_

_Mid Rim_

_3 weeks later_

Firmus Piett nodded at his captain, "Very well. Alert me to any issues with the loading of supplies. Ensure that all shuttles are scanned carefully when they arrive from Takodana. We don't want any rogue stowaways or miscreants."

"Yes, sir," Captain Vrita replied, and allowed himself a sympathetic smile. "Get some sleep, sir."

Piett sighed and turned on his heel, heading towards the elevator off the bridge. Yes, he wanted some sleep, desperately. The last three weeks had been completely chaotic, with the two leaders of the Empire officially dead and the Death Star mired in problems and a triumvirate of slimy politicians duking it out for power on Imperial Center. He had kept Death Squadron in hyperspace most of the time, only stopping for necessary supplies, and was carefully avoiding all holocalls from frantic officials of both military and civilian persuasions. Thus far, he had managed to be 'out of range' quite successfully, but he couldn't hide forever. And the more time went by, the more likely that he would have to return to the Imperial fold and submit to the leadership of someone. Thrawn was probably the best of the lot, but still, the Admiral preferred to be autonomous for at least a little while longer.

He stepped on board the elevator and pushed a few buttons before sagging against a wall. He wanted to sleep, he did, and he would, but he had one stop to make before he could curl up with his bantha plushie. He would make it quick.

The door slid open and he wearily walked down a corridor, to the right, to the left, through a secure door, through another secure door, and finally into a large, unofficially empty med bay.

Which wasn't empty at all.

The protocol droid outside the door checked his credentials and retinal scan with care, then opened the door.

"Is Dr. Sert inside?" Piett asked.

"No, Admiral," the droid replied. "He is having a rest period now. The patient is stable."

"Very well," Piett grunted.

Yes, the patient was stable. The patient had been stable for two weeks. But the patient was not waking up!

He stepped through the decontamination chamber to ensure he wasn't carrying any nasty germs, then through a door into the room where Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, lay quietly on a very large reclined bed.

Piett gasped in shock even as he reached for his blaster. (Yes, he carried a blaster nowadays. With the Empire in disarray, he knew he was a possible target for assassination. The _Executor_ and the other Star Destroyers of Death Squadron were quite a prize!)

Sitting on a chair next to the giant body was a slim form, clad in black. The head was turned away so Piett couldn't see his face but he didn't need to. No sentient was allowed in here except Piett and Dr. Lenz Sert, Vader's private physician.

"Hands up. Don't make any sudden moves."

He felt thoroughly silly saying these words, so common in every pathetic holodrama the galaxy across.

The man obeyed, lifting his hands carefully and turning to face the Imperial Admiral.

The blaster wobbled briefly as Piett gasped in shock, "Skywalker! How did you get in here?"

The young man smiled slightly even as he gestured with a finger. A moment later, the blaster was yanked harshly out of Piett's hand and flew into the young Jedi's.

"Through the duct work, Admiral Piett," the Rebel said cheerfully. "There are advantages to being small."

Piett bit his lip and moved his hand slightly toward his com, only to have it also whisked away into the young man's hands.

"Relax, Admiral," Skywalker ordered. "I have no intention of harming you."

The older man's eyes narrowed and he gestured toward the still form on the bed, "And what of your father, Skywalker? Will you harm him?"

Skywalker's expression shifted from vaguely reassuring to surprised, "He told you."

"I figured it out during that ridiculous holocall," Piett huffed angrily, striding to the other side of Vader's bed. "I'm not stupid."

Skywalker nodded, "I realize that. A man who commanded Death Squadron under my father's oversight has to be a very smart individual. No, Admiral, I won't harm my father either."

The boy looked grim as he stared at his father's exposed pale visage. The Sith was hairless, his face a mass of scars under the oxygen mask which was providing oxygen to his scarred lungs. Various tubes were poked into the old man's arms and torso, providing life giving fluids. "He looks pathetic. Horrible. What is wrong with him?"

"I'm afraid that would take many hours to answer in detail, Skywalker, even if you were cleared for the particulars, which you are not. He apparently was very badly burned more than 20 years ago and his subsequent medical care was substandard. Then 3 weeks ago he crashed his TIE fighter and suffered substantial additional injuries. It is a miracle that he is alive."

The youth nodded, his face solemn, "He deliberately crashed into the Emperor's Throne Room, didn't he."

It was not a question, but a statement.

"It appears," Piett replied carefully, "that Lord Vader lost control of his craft after flying in a rather ... reckless manner on the way to the Death Star, resulting in the accident."

Skywalker snorted, "And people actually believe that?"

"Even very good pilots can have accidents."

"Vader is not a _good_ pilot, Admiral Piett. He's the second best in the galaxy."

The admiral shot a look at the Sith, then looked at Skywalker, "And who would you say is the very best pilot?"

"Me, of course," the boy said, his eyes glimmering with suppressed amusement. "I've spent way more time in a snub fighter in the last few years than he has. Mostly he's been stuck on this behemoth."

"The Lady," Piett replied indignantly, "is worth a million of your X-wings."

The boy chuckled before shifting his gaze to his silent father, "Has he woken up since ... the accident?"

"No," Piett replied heavily. "Doctor Sert, an excellent physician, has been working on his lungs and ... other issues, and he says your father is responding to treatment, but he is in a coma. Not ... not brain dead, you understand, but he has not woken up."

"You rescued him from the Death Star."

"Yes," Piett agreed carefully.

"And convinced everyone that he was dead."

"He certainly looked dead. It was relatively simple to carry him to his shuttle and send out a message that he had died of his extensive injuries."

"Why did you save him, Admiral?" Skywalker asked softly. "He is a hard man, is he not? The rumors are that he violently murdered more than one of your fellow officers for minor failures."

Firmus Piett scowled at these words, "I am loyal to the Empire, Skywalker. I am not a Rebel."

"My father deliberately assassinated the Emperor. You and I both know that."

"It may be," Piett replied carefully, "that I had major concerns about Palpatine's leadership of the Empire."

The blond eyebrows rose, "So you're saying you like my father more than the Emperor?"

Piett shivered slightly. Like? No one _liked_ Lord Vader.

"I respect Lord Vader's leadership a great deal. He is brave and willing to lead from the front. He demands much, but he has shown himself willing to serve his men in ways that the Emperor did not."

The boy bit his lip, "If Vader is a better leader than Palpatine was, I'm glad I never met the man."

"You should indeed be thankful, Skywalker," Piett growled. "It is clear that your father's actions were deliberately intended to protect you, your sister, and her child."

The blue eyes widened, "Are you sure?"

Piett took a deep breath, "When we found him in the Throne Room, he told me that 'his grandchild would be free.' No doubt he expected those to be his last words."

Skywalker looked shocked, then smiled tremulously even as he reached over to touch his father's hand, "That's ... that's amazing."

Piett frowned now, "How did you get here? Not to this room. I know you told me you crawled through the duct work, which explains the dust on your clothes."

"Hey, is it my fault that you don't clean the ventilation shafts properly?"

"How did you know your father was alive, and here?"

The boy tilted his head, "Do you believe in the Force, Admiral?"

"Of course I do. Anyone who has the privilege of working alongside Darth Vader believes in the Force."

"Well, he's my father, and I'm his son. We have a connection. I knew right away when the reports of his death came in that they weren't true. After that, it was just a case of meditation and following the bond between us. I'm guessing if he had been conscious it wouldn't have been as easy. He's kind of ... passive right now."

There was just something horrible about Darth Vader being passive. It made Piett's scalp itch.

"I'm trying to reach his mind," Skywalker continued softly, running a hand along the cyborg's chest plate, "and I think I'm making progress but he's still not connecting with me in a conscious way."

The Admiral hesitated, then decided to ask, "I trust your sister is doing well?"

The youth considered him for a long moment, then pulled out a hand held holoprojector, "The Empire has enough spies that you'll figure this out anyway. Yes, she's doing great. She had her twins two weeks ago."

"Twins!"

"Yes, they run in the family, apparently. A boy and a girl."

Piett looked absently at the holo which had appeared above Skywalker's hand, and then his eyes bugged out.

"Wait, isn't that ..?"

"Leia Organa, yes."

"Leia Organa. Of Alderaan."

"Yes."

The boy sounded amused.

"Is your twin sister."

"Yes. She wasn't happy. About me, she was. About him, not so much."

"Asteroids of Hoth," Piett breathed out, running a weary hand across his forehead. Of course Vader's daughter couldn't be some random Rebel. She had to be Princess Leia of destroyed Alderaan.

"Asteroids of Hoth?"

"It was," Piett explained stiffly, "a difficult time in my life. Have you ever tried to hunt a small freighter through a major asteroid field with a very focused Sith Lord breathing down your neck?"

"Have you ever been on a small freighter in a major asteroid field? I wasn't on the _Falcon_, as you know, but Leia and Han and Chewbacca were nearly smashed to oblivion a million times. It's a good thing Han is an awesome pilot."

Piett frowned, "I thought Solo had been ..."

He trailed away. Probably not a good thing to bring up given how messy Bespin had turned out to be. Vader had captured Solo and Organa, and tortured them both, and cut off Skywalker's hand.

"Frozen in carbonite and shipped off to Jabba?" Skywalker asked brightly. "Yes. And we rescued him. Leia killed Jabba. She and Solo got married. He's father to the twins and therefore Darth Vader's son-in-law."

There was a strangled gasp from the bed and Skywalker and Piett turned in surprise. Darth Vader lay there, his blue eyes open wide.

"Father!" Luke said joyfully. "You are awake!"

"Solo?" the raspy voice muttered. Without the vocoder, the man did not sound like Darth Vader.

"I think we have more important things to talk about than Han, Father."

"Married to my daughter ..."

"Yes," the young man said indignantly. "He's a great man."

"He's a scruffy looking nerfherder..."

"Leia has said the very same thing..."

"I tortured him ..."

"And Leia, and you cut off my hand. You don't get any Father of the Decade awards for sure."

Piett winced at these words. Even lying on his back without his mask, Darth Vader was a dangerous man and Skywalker seemed intent on poking the dragon with his words.

"But I love you anyway," the youth said seriously, "and we are very thankful that you killed Palpatine."

The scarred lips lifted in a slight smile, "Your sister, did she ...?"

"Yes, here they are. Twins."

The blue eyes widened in amazement as they focused on the holo, and the old man smiled, "Twins ..."

"Yes."

Piett suddenly felt very uncomfortable. It didn't seem right that he was in the middle of this (admit it) touching family reunion.

"You may go, Admiral," Vader ordered even as one half of his bed tilted up more.

"Yes, my Lord."

"I'll take good care of him 'til the doctor shows up," Skywalker said helpfully, his eyes on his father's face.

"Very well," Piett murmured.

He left, swiftly, and fifteen minutes later he was curled up in bed with his plushie.

The situation was insane and crazy. But as he drifted off to sleep, somehow ... somehow ... Piett was certain everything was going to be all right ...

_The End_

_Except I might write an epilogue._


End file.
